Future Tense
by Ainyan
Summary: A letter gives Shepard and Kaidan something to think about
1. The Letter

_Hey sweetheart,_

_Sorry I haven't written before this, but you know how it's been. I've been working with Admiral Hackett on that project you two cooked up, and they're very careful about communications. Thankfully, Hackett was willing to pass this letter on to you, because I think I might have gone a little mad if I didn't have a chance to talk to you._

_I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you, and how proud your father would be if he was here to see what you have become. All parents, I think, consider their children special. Smarter, stronger, more beautiful. And every parent, I think, wants to believe that their child will make a difference in this mixed-up galaxy. But you – you're actually doing just that, and I can't describe how it makes me feel knowing that it's my daughter who is out there, making the difference that will mean our victory where so many others have failed._

_I know it's bad out there right now. We may be outside of the loop, but Hackett does a good job of making certain that I – that we – are kept informed of what's important. Every time you and the Normandy get up to something, he makes sure I hear about it. Some of the crew has started keeping a video scrapbook of every bit of news they can get their hands on about you. Even though they don't know you, they're still proud of you. You know how we spacers are – if you're family to one of us, you're family to all of us. And this family loves you very much._

_When this is all over, you and I are going to take time for some mother-daughter downtime. We'll hit up some exotic location with a spa and miles of beaches and just be together. I'm sure that marine you've hooked yourself with can live without you for a few days._

_Oh yes, I've heard all about that as well. Here's hoping, baby. No one deserves that kind of happiness more than you do, and everything I've seen makes me think he won't let you get lost in the job the way you used to. It's good for you to have something other than the next mission to consider – maybe now you'll be a little more careful, with someone to come home to._

_I hope you're happy. I miss you, and I love you, and I can't wait to see you again._

_Love,_

_Mom_

Long after the screen had dimmed, Shepard continued to stare at it, mulling over the email from her mother. She'd never put much stock in her so-called 'hero status' – except when it came in useful for getting something she needed to fulfill her mission. The idea that somewhere out there, a ship full of soldiers just like herself were making a scrapbook about her set an itch between her shoulder blades that she couldn't quite scratch. While her mother's declaration of pride set a glow in her breast, it also elicited a vague discomfort in her stomach – the kind that always came whenever anyone treated her like someone she wasn't – someone better than she was.

_I'm not a hero. I'm just a soldier. I take my orders and I give them and I get the job done. Everyone expects me to be someone I'm not – some kind of… paragon. But I can't be anything other than who I am – what I am. Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. Council Spectre. N7 operative. That's who I am. That's all I ever wanted to be._

It wasn't until she tapped aside the case containing her latest medal that she was willing to acknowledge that the implied hero worship in her mother's letter wasn't the only source of the discomfort souring her stomach. There were more lines on the face of the man who stared at her from the picture frame that had been hidden behind the case; more grey at the temples, and his eyes didn't quite smile so much anymore. Like her, the war had aged him – _tempered, honed _were the words that echoed in the privacy of her mind, but aged, too. Prematurely. And, she acknowledged ruefully, she didn't have to look so hard to find the strands of silver in her own coal-black hair these days.

Her mother's words implied a… permanency, she decided, to their relationship. And even as her stomach fluttered painfully at the thought, her heart lifted – just a little – with a hope she'd thought she'd quenched since that fateful day when the Reapers invaded Earth. The middle of a war wasn't the best time to be thinking about the future – any particular future – but now that her mother had put the spark in her mind, she couldn't seem to quench it. The battle had to end someday, after all...

Irritated, she moved the medal case back into position, once more hiding Kaidan's picture from view and turned back to her terminal, determined to make inroads on the work waiting for her. It took her three tries at reading one line of a report on Palaven – and failing each time – before she was willing to admit that she wouldn't be getting anything done until she'd laid this particular issue to rest. _He's a career man, just like me. He knows the score – he knows there's no point in worrying about a future that might end tomorrow. I'll just talk with him, and set this to rest so I can start worrying about something real._ Ignoring her mind's snide retort to her own thoughts – _And is it so bad to want a future outside of the job?_ – she stalked out of her cabin and into the elevator, jamming her finger against the button for the third deck of the ship.

She strode down the hallway, ducking around the ensign assigned to guard this particular deck, snapping off an absent salute in response to his own. Even as he continued on his circling round of the mess and crew hallway, Shepard was swinging into the Observation Lounge. "Alright, Alenko," she snapped out, "we need to get this straightened out. I've got work to do."

His expression was one of mild surprise as he turned away from his contemplation of the stars beyond the glass, eyebrows raised in inquiry as he shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Shepard, hey," came the habitual greeting, along with a slow smile that sent her stomach fluttering again. "Something wrong?" Behind the easy words and the smooth demeanor, she could sense the confusion and wariness and felt a twinge of unease herself – and, perhaps, just a bit of guilt for springing this on him without warning. Ruthlessly, she chased both away.

"I don't know if I'd say wrong," she vacillated, "but there's something we've got to set straight, or I won't get any of the work done that needs doing. Look," she sighed, settling with a graceless thump to one of the couches, "we're good, right? You and me, we've got a good thing. We work well together, on duty and off. And that's what it is, right? A thing – a great thing," was added hastily as she saw his eyebrows draw together, "But we don't worry about the future, right? Promises and plans – they're not part of the job. And right now, it's all about the job. Right?"

Her nerves hummed as he turned away from her, tilting his head back as he contemplated the stars glinting outside of the viewport, silent for a long moment. When he sighed, the pressure in her throat only increased, and though she tried to say his name, she couldn't get it past the lump that had formed. "Shepard," he murmured, staring out at the galaxy arrayed before him, "I thought I'd made it clear. There's no one else for me. Not just right now – ever." When he turned back to her, she flinched at the hurt in his dark eyes. "I know we never really talked about it – and I guess I have to take that on myself. After everything we've been through – after Ilos, after our talk on the Presidum, I didn't think we had to. I thought… I thought you understood that when I said I loved you, I was making a promise."

"Kaidan," she croaked out past the frog in her throat, pushing herself up from the couch and holding a hand out to him. He evaded her touch, shaking his head. "Kaidan, I didn't mean – I didn't…" She trailed off when he shook his head again, once more turning to contemplate the starscape beyond the ship.

"No, Shepard," he said, gently enough to have her biting her lip. "I think… I need to be alone right now. We'll talk again later, okay?" Though she might have argued against him had he demanded she leave, the quiet plea in his voice had her stumbling back a step, then turning and numbly walking from the room. As the door slid shut behind her, she heard the soft buzz that indicated that he'd locked it from the other side. She made her way towards the elevator and her own quarters, unaware of the tears tracking down her cheeks.


	2. Distracted

_Sometime after Gellix:_

"Well, Commander, I haven't had to treat you in a while. I hope you didn't take this to give me something to do." Dr. Chakwas finished wrapping the bandage around Shepard's upper arm and sealed it in place, before stepping back to examine her own work. "You've become much more adept at avoiding damage – or at least, at avoiding damage that can't be dealt with by an application of medi-gel. I hope you're not backsliding now."

"Ha ha," Shepard muttered as she flexed her arm, hiding a wince as dull pain seared through the laceration on her bicep. "No, I just got distracted at a critical moment, and wasn't expecting that Phantom to be right there. It won't happen again," she added grimly, tightening her fist then releasing it. "Feels better already – shouldn't slow me down. Thanks for the deft touch, Doctor."

"Hmm," is all Dr. Chakwas had time to say before the door to the medbay hissed open. Both women glanced up reflexively, pinning Garrus with a pair of stares. He seemed momentarily disconcerted – but the unease soon passed, and he cleared his throat.

"Doctor, I wondered if I might have a word with the Commander," he murmured in reply to the unasked question in the older woman's eyes. "In private." Shepard grimaced at his tone, but Chakwas barely gave him more than a cursory glance before shrugging.

"I could use a bite to eat. See that she doesn't overdo it." Dusting her hands together, she moved past Garrus and left the medbay, her stride hitching only briefly as she heard the brief hum that indicated that the turian had locked the door behind her. "Let's hope I still have a medbay to come back to," she murmured softly under her breath as she continued on to the kitchen area of the deck.

As Chakwas left, Garrus sealed the door behind her, eliciting a sharp grunt from Shepard. "Something on your mind, Vakarian?" the commander drawled as she adjusted the tuck of her sleeve where it was rolled up just above the bandage. Despite the laziness of her question, however, tension hummed up her spine and she swallowed reflexively as the turian turned back to frown at her. Or – well, from the set of his mandibles, she assumed it was a frown.

He was silent for a moment, milling about the medbay. He paused to pick up a small ornament that Chakwas kept on her desk and turned it over in his hands, carefully not looking at Shepard. When finally he raised his eyes to hers, his expression was even more serious than usual. "What did Taylor say to you?"

"_I want a life. I want a family."_

"_Sure, I get that."_

"_No, Shepard. The Normandy's your real love."_

The memory of the conversation seared through her, and Shepard jerked back away from Garrus, hissing as the movement jarred her arm. His eyes widened slightly at her response, and he opened his mouth to say something, then shut it as she slid from the table, moving away from him. Resting her hands on the sill of the window, she stared out at the crew milling around the dining area – talking, eating, dealing with the day to day minutiae that didn't disappear just because war had enveloped their lives, turned them inside out. Rather than answer the question, she posed one of her own: "Garrus, do you ever think about what you'll do after? I mean, if we beat the Reapers?"

She could feel him come up behind her, and though he did not touch her, just feeling him at her back made her straighten up, cross her arms beneath her breasts. This time, the movement didn't bring an accompanying pain, though she barely noticed the absence. She heard him sigh softly, and his response inexplicably made her frown. "No." Before she could remark, however, he added, "I do think about what I'll do _when_ we beat the Reapers, though."

Brow furrowing, she turned away from the window, tilting her head back to look into the alien – yet so familiar – visage of the turian. The sight of her irritation had his mandibles shifting in the manner she knew meant he was smiling, and he hitched his hip against the doctor's desk, crossing his arms across his torso. "Come now, Shepard," he cajoled, "aren't you the one who taught us how important it was to have hope? There's no 'if' about it – we will beat the Reapers. And afterwards, I'll meet up with my father and sister. Then, well… there's going to be a lot of rebuilding on Palaven. They'll need all the help they can get, and I intend to be there for it."

He could see the tension drain from her shoulders. They slumped, and her chin fell, tucking against her chest as she stared at the floor. He left her in silence for a moment, recognizing the signs of her gathering her thoughts. As her fingers beat a noiseless tattoo against her forearm, he shifted his stance a little. Even after all of these years with humans, he still wasn't entirely certain when he was being supportive and when he was being threatening. They had such odd perceptions of the most basic social interactions.

"Doesn't it seem… selfish?" Shepard ventured after a long moment of silence, her eyes still trained on the floor. "Thousands of people are dying every day. Entire worlds are going silent. Shouldn't ending that be enough to fight for? What right do we have to envision a future – to want a future – when so many will never have one?" Her voice had taken on a distant quality – as though the question were being posed more to herself than to him. He hesitated when she fell silent, then offered up his own answer when it seemed she wasn't going to find one on her own.

"It's all fine and good to fight for an abstract like freedom or victory, Shepard," came Garrus' soft reply, "but, well, I've found a personal stake only heightens my resolve. It's important to remember the big picture, but there's always a little picture too. Don't you worry about your mother? About those who couldn't join us on the Normandy, like Jack or Miranda?" Here he hesitated, all too aware that his next question might set the spark to the tension that had once more begun to vibrate through her frame. "Can you tell me that you aren't fighting for Alenko?"

She flinched back at that final question, her whole body jerking back a step, and when her eyes rose to meet his, the misery within their green depths was enough that even he could read it. "I don't know anymore," she whispered, dropping her gaze again before pulling away from the window, wandering towards the other side of the medbay. "I – I don't know. He…" She trailed off, jerking her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "It doesn't matter," she finally stated, rather sharply. "I can't let it distract me." The unspoken 'anymore' hung in the air between them as she fingered the bandage on her arm. "He doesn't need me to fight for him – he's damned good at doing it all by himself."

"How much of that skill is because he is, indeed, an exceptional soldier – which he is," Garrus added hastily when Shepard drew a breath to defend the major, "and how much of it is because he sees a future he thinks is worth fighting for?"

"I…" Biting her lip, Shepard stared hard at Garrus, then made a slashing motion with her hand, cutting off both herself and the conversation. "Don't you have some calibrations to get to?" she asked harshly before striding towards the door, tapping the override on the lock. Garrus didn't move as she stalked from the medbay, the door hissing shut behind her. Glancing down at the ornament he still held in his hand, he turned it over, tilting his head as colors swirled in the crystal orb. Gently, he placed it back upon the doctor's desk and followed in his commander's footsteps. After all, there _were_ calibrations he had to get to. There were _always_ calibrations – of one type or another.


	3. Over the Edge

_Sometime after Lesuss:_

Shepard ran her fingers through her short cap of hair, shaking her head after to settle it back in place. Weariness penetrated bone-deep – this last mission had been particularly difficult. Every warzone they visited brought new horrors, but these mutated asari – Banshees, the crew had begun calling them, for their soul-piercing shrieks – were by far and away the most hideous yet. Not only were they a horrific parody of a beautiful race, but their biotic abilities were off the scale, and their ability to pierce the hardest armor with their claws made the idea of going head to head with them send a shiver down her spine. And afterwards – with Samara… how her heart had leapt into her throat at the sight of the Justicar holding her own pistol to her head. Thank God she'd been able to prevent that particular tragedy.

She threw the datapad upon which she'd been writing her report onto the desk and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and raising her hands to rub at her pulsing temples. Every day saw the Reapers gaining ground and brought more reports from the beleaguered planets requesting aid – or no reports at all, from those colonies which had gone silent under the onslaught of the attacks. It was hard to find the good these days, despite the positive reports from Hackett on the progress of the Crucible, or the accounts of settlements safely evacuated to more fortified ground. And, she had to admit privately, her own personal entanglements were still gnawing at her, making it all the more difficult to see the silver lining for the storm clouds.

With her thoughts inevitably straying towards Kaidan, she reached out to take up a different datapad – this one rather battered and worn, but still in working condition. She thumbed it on, and a shaky voice filled the air – tear-filled and pain-stricken. She'd already listened to the message when she'd found the datapad in the monastery, but she felt the need to listen to it yet again.

… _I'm sorry we fought… I love you…_

Why was it every mission brought another reminder of what she'd said, what she'd done… what she'd thrown away? Her gut clenched again at the sound of the asari's voice – no less poignant for echoing through her quarters rather than the dust-choked air of the ruined Ardat-Yakshi monastery. This asari – this unnamed commando – had left behind a lover, a widow, to mourn her death in this war. Would the widow have been better off having never known those days of joy with her bondmate? Or was the widow lucky to have had such time with the one she loved? Was it fair for a soldier to bind her life to someone else's, when there's always a chance of finding death in battle, far from the one you loved? Why couldn't she figure it out?

_How much of it is because he sees a future he thinks is worth fighting for?_

Garrus had posed that question to her. But did Kaidan really foresee a future for them once the Reapers were dead? Or had she killed that when she'd inadvertently made an ass of herself? With an exasperated sigh, she tossed the datapad back on her messy desk and pushed up from her chair, tucking her hands in the pockets of her pants as she moved into the bedroom portion of her quarters, pacing in front of her bed. Why was she letting this bother her so much? Didn't she have enough to deal with – what with, you know, that pesky war with the Reapers and all. Did she really have time to sit here and worry about, of all things, a _relationship_?

_It's important to remember the big picture, but there's always a little picture too._

Damn Garrus! He was supposed to be her best friend – supporting her. Three years now they'd been together, through thick and thin. He'd said it once: _You're the only friend I have in this whole damn galaxy. _Not true, of course, as she'd pointed out later – but it was a mark of how close they were that when pressed, she was the only one who came to mind. So why now, when she needed to know she'd done the right thing by pushing Kaidan away, did he make her question her own decision? The last thing she needed right now was to be wrong.

… _I'm sorry we fought… I love you…_

The dead asari's voice reverberated through her head, and she felt her stomach twist. Would that be her one day, gasping her last breath into a datapad so that maybe someone, somewhere, somewhen, would be able to tell Kaidan what had happened? She'd already died on him once. Memory sparked:_ I spent two years pulling myself back together after you went down with the Normandy. _Oh God, how could she do that to him again?

_No_. Shaking her head, she squared her shoulders, facing her rows of model ships. Faintly in the glass, her eyes reflected back to her, jade green and hard as granite. She'd made the right decision pushing him away. Despite the churning in her stomach; despite the ache in her heart; despite the tears that threatened every time her mind turned towards those careless words she had tossed in his face, she knew, _knew_, that if she truly loved him, then she had to let him go.

With a decisive jerk of her head, she swung around to her desk, sweeping the medal case aside, ignoring as it clattered face down on the desk. Kaidan's face stared back at her – just as it had when she'd gazed at this picture before heading through the Omega-4 relay. _My life for the past three years has been one suicide mission after another. This one is no different. _Bleakly, she tore her eyes from Kaidan's picture, stared at her terminal – at the map displayed upon it, showing the Reapers' inexorable advance across the galaxy. _Maybe it's not selfish to dream, but surely it's selfish to condemn someone – someone you love – to the inevitable pain of loss. I can't do that to him. Not again._

… _I'm sorry we fought… I love you…_

Why wouldn't the asari shut up? She grabbed at her hair, gripping thick handfuls in her fists as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the insistent words of a dead commando on a distant planet. Over the pounding in her head, she could hear EDI's voice – something about increased heart rate and respiration – but she couldn't understand a thing the AI was saying. Fatigue dropped onto her bones like a smothering cloak, and she weakly sank into her chair, still gripping her aching head in her hands. Somewhere, a chime sounded. Was it time to get up? Was there another mission? She struggled to escape the confines of the chair.

Then hands were on her shoulders, holding her down. She heard a voice yelling – in shock, she realized it was her own. Garbled orders rang through the air of the cabin, ignored by those to whom they were issued. Fingers grabbed her chin, and she felt her head jerked upwards to stare into the implacable green eyes of Dr. Karin Chakwas. "Stress," she stated succinctly. "Overwork, no sleep, the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders – here, Commander, you can yell at me later." Vaguely, Shepard felt something press to her throat – felt the sharp sting and the puff of air that told her that the doctor had used a pressure syringe on her. Even as she tried to struggle away from the hands still confining her to the chair, lassitude flowed through her, and her muscles relaxed, ignoring the frantic orders from her mind. Then, too, her brain shut down, obedient to the drug racing through her system. The last thing she knew before the world went dark was being cradled in all-too-familiar arms and the sound of an all-too-familiar voice.

"Sleep, Shepard. I'll be right here with you. Sleep."

_Kaidan… _


	4. A Moment in Time

She awoke to near darkness, the pale blue glow of the aquarium and the streaking stars beyond the skylight the only source of light in the room. There was a weight in the air that alerted her to another's presence, even before she heard the soft, slow breathing nearby. She reached out cautiously to feel the bed next to her, but her hand only encountered sheets twisted and tangled by a night of uneasy sleep. Lying still, she concentrated, then tilted her head to the left, eyeing the form sitting propped in a chair next to her bed. Even in the dim light, she knew exactly who was standing – or rather, sitting - vigil at her bedside, and she whispered his name: "Kaidan."

He was asleep – she could tell from his even breathing. Quietly, she slipped out from beneath the sheets, rubbing her arms as she drifted on silent feet across the room, moving towards the storage room where she kept her clothes. Dragging out the oversized button-down shirt that often served her as a nightgown, she pulled it on, fingers fumbling as she buttoned it up. She could feel the last dregs of the drug fleeing her system as she made her way towards her desk, leaving her mind clear. She supposed she should be angry at having been drugged, but enough of the sedative remained in her veins that her emotions were still banked. Logically, she understood what Kaidan and Chakwas had done – even if she didn't appreciate it.

Still, the rest had done her well, though she knew from the state of her bed that it had not been an easy sleep. Even drugs, it seemed, couldn't keep the ghosts of the dead from walking her dreams. Her recall was hazy at best – voices, that child, bitter winds – and even as she concentrated on remembering, the dream eluded her, vanishing to smoke. Shaking her head, she moved away from her work area, her eyes automatically seeking the slumbering form of Kaidan, propped rather uncomfortably in the chair he'd dragged to her bedside. Leaning shoulder and hip against the divider between work space and living area, she folded her arms across her breasts and simply watched.

There had been little enough time like this since the Reapers had invaded Earth – time to reflect, without the constant pressure of mission after mission, of the expectations of her superiors. In the dim light, with the stars swimming in the ghostly glow of the FTL trail outside of her skylight and the last remnants of the drug loosening her muscles, Shepard could almost forget that the fate of a galaxy depended on her every move. The knowledge was still a nagging pressure in the back of her mind – but for this one brief moment in time, she could set it aside to concentrate on _here _and_ now_.

Here in this space of time, she realized that her life and her job were, indeed, two separate entities. For so long she had lived the job – breathed it, been it. When she thought of herself, she didn't think of a woman thirty-two years of age with short black hair, jade green eyes, and a secret passion for chocolate and moonlit walks by the sea. She thought of a soldier, an N7 infiltrator who could line up a headshot on the fly, who could use her omni-tool to stealth or throw plasma rounds. She thought of the Council Spectre who could and would use that status to browbeat dignitaries into submission when she needed something done. She thought of the commander of the Normandy, upon whose shoulders rested the weight of dozens of worlds and billions of lives. She couldn't remember the last time she'd lain in a bathtub full of bubbles, with a glass of wine at her elbow and a book of high fantasy in her hands and just _breathed_.

But _he_ had changed that. Slowly, exquisitely, she'd remembered what existed beneath the black and purple armor – the woman, with a woman's wants, and a woman's needs. More surely than a Phantom's sword, he'd sliced into the very heart of her, piercing deep into that hidden place where she'd stored her individuality in the name of being the best soldier she could be. And in doing so, he'd heightened her strengths, and decreased her weaknesses. He'd made her see the human side of the equation – made her see beyond the numbers and what Garrus referred to as the "ruthless calculus of war". And maybe it meant she bled a little more every time she lost a crewmate – a friend – and maybe it meant she cared a little more when a world fell to the Reapers… but it also meant that she'd try that much harder to keep it from happening again. Pain, she had learned long before, was a most effective deterrent.

She felt the charge in the air brought about by his awakening only seconds before she saw his eyes open, watched his head turn instinctively towards the bed. "Shepard?" She might have shifted at the thin thread of anxiety in his voice, or he may simply have sensed her watching, but his head whipped around, and brown eyes stared into green. They held each other's gaze as he pushed himself up from the chair and approached; his steps hesitant, almost wary. "Shepard. Hey." Sometimes, she wondered how he was so good at poker – but perhaps the fact that she could read the relief and worry warring on his face was only one more indication of how well she'd come to know him.

"Kaidan. Hey," she responded in kind, her voice lazy as she continued to lean against the divider, canting her head towards it as she cocked her hip, swinging one foot in front of the other in a deliberately nonchalant pose. "Have a nice nap?"

"Not particularly," came the dry response as the major stopped several feet away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Snatches here and there, but…" He trailed off, shrugging his broad shoulders. Shepard felt a pang, noting the shadows she could see beneath his eyes in the dim light. "How about you? Sleep well?"

Pushing away from the wall, she moved a few steps closer, tucking her hands behind her back as she echoed his shrug. "It cleared my head," she admitted. "I don't know if I'd say it was restful," and they both glanced at the tangled sheets that gave mute evidence of just how restless her sleep had been, "but it was needed." She noted the slight smile that crossed his lips at her grudging admission. "Come," she said briskly. "Join me." Without waiting to see if he followed, she crossed towards the couch, settling down upon the cushions and arranging her legs to ensure there would be no inadvertent flashing.

He sat carefully on the second couch, not quite close enough to intrude on her personal space. Feet planted on the floor, he leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped loosely before him. His brown eyes watched her – cautiously, she thought, as though waiting for a blow. But she wasn't of a mind to ream him over his and Chakwas' high-handed actions, not when their necessity had become so clear. After several humming moments of silence, he cleared his throat, then stated, "I didn't expect you up so soon."

"Yeah, well, since my… surgery," and here she paused to peer at him, to be certain he understood the reference. At his grimace and nod, she continued with, "I haven't responded as well to sedatives. An unexpected benefit, as I discovered on Aratoht," she added bleakly. "It doesn't matter – it worked well enough. I can't say I care for being ambushed," and she offered him a mocking glare, "but I can't argue with the evidence."

Kaidan sat there quietly for a long moment, his gaze turning from her to his folded hands. "I was in the medbay when EDI called the doctor," he stated into the silence. "I had… a headache." Shepard winced, knowing that that 'headache' was more likely one of his biotic-born migraines. "She – EDI – said that the monitors in your cabin showed heightened respiration and pulse, and that you weren't responding to any of her inquiries. When we came in, you were struggling in your chair, like you wanted to get up, but you couldn't quite figure out how. When I touched you, you started shouting. In Prothean," he added wryly. "I don't regret it, and I'm certain that Dr. Chakwas doesn't either."

"In Proth- Dear God. I didn't… you know what it's like, Kaidan. There's no time for sleep. Earth… Palaven… all those people." She stared off into the distance, lost in the memory of the Reaper invasion. She felt him shift, felt his gentle touch. She turned her hand upwards so that their fingers could link, the action as natural as breathing. And another key clicked in the lock. "I didn't mean to scare you, Kaidan."

"You did," he stated bluntly, fingers tightening briefly as he slid a bit closer to the junction of the couches, to her. "There's a whole lot in this war that makes me sick, that makes me angry, but the idea of losing you – and not just to the war, but to yourself – that chills my bones." When he felt her start to draw away, he tightened his grip. "No, it's your turn to listen. Shepard," and he waited until her eyes snapped to his, green on brown. "I love you. That fact isn't going to change." His tongue flicked out to wet dry lips, and she felt her spine tingle. "I can't help but think of the future – sometimes it's all that keeps me from losing it when I imagine everything going on out there. That dream that someday, this horror will be over and we can start rebuilding our lives, that's my motivation. I want to save people – save worlds – but they're abstract to me. I need something I can put a face on, and I can put a face on us."

_It's important to remember the big picture, but there's always a little picture too._

Garrus, damn him, had been right. She'd been so focused on the faceless masses – the calculus of war – that she had spread herself too thin, trying to fight for everyone and everything. Every world taken, every life lost, she'd taken upon herself – every wound was a wound on her body; no wonder she'd bled herself dry. Without hope to sustain her, she'd gone hollow.

_What right do we have to envision a future – to want a future – when so many will never have one?_

It didn't come down to rights. It came down to needs. A person can't live without a goal – a visible, obtainable goal. She knew that, as a soldier. One of the first lessons learned was that to get something done, you have to set a goal, then work towards that goal. Often, there would be multiple goals on the road to the objective – first avoid this ambush, then defeat this enemy, then traverse this maze, all before taking the point. And she'd forgotten that truth in the rush, in the sheer, overwhelming _moment_ that had been the vindication of three years of her life – the unwanted proof that she hadn't simply been crying wolf, that the sky was, indeed, falling – and it was about to crush the world.

He waited at her side, patiently watching her struggle through her thoughts. _Just like always. _The thought struck her like a blow. Granted, there'd been a time when she couldn't have depended on him – when he'd let suspicion overcome common sense – but in the time since he'd returned to her life, since he'd rejoined the Normandy, he'd more than made up for that brief lapse. If anything, his loyalty and devotion were stronger than ever – all the more so because, she mused, he was no longer technically under her command. He ranked her, in the Alliance, and he matched her as a Spectre. They were, finally, on even ground – and yet he deferred to her leadership, obeyed her commands, and accepted her guidance without question, placing his life and his trust in her hands. No qualms, just simple belief in _her_.

"_I want a life. I want a family."_

"_Sure, I get that."_

"_No, Shepard. The Normandy's your real love."_

Maybe once upon a time, Jacob Taylor's words would have been true. But while she loved the Normandy – and everyone who served her – her real love was sitting beside her, his fingers tracing gentle, abstract patterns on the back of her hand as he watched and waited for her to come to terms with his words and decide her own mind. "I like chocolate and fantasy novels and walking on the beach," she said slowly, and felt him tense beside her. "I like to climb rocks, hike, and fish, but I'd just as soon watch a deer as shoot it. I want a home – somewhere remote, where it's just you and me and nothing but nature. And a cat," she added slyly. "A black cat with white socks who thinks she owns the place. I never had a home."

Kaidan sat silent for a moment, simply staring at her with that calm, impenetrable expression of his. His hands continued to play with hers, fingertips caressing her skin. "A home," he finally mused. "With lots of windows and a wide porch where we can sit on a swing and watch time stand still. A huge yard where the dog can run free, chasing squirrels and terrorizing birds." She felt her breath stutter in her chest as his lips turned in a slow, sweet smile. "A place we can come home to at the end of the day and leave our worries behind us and just be a family."

"_I want a life. I want a family."_

_ Yes. That's what I want too. Finally, I _do_ get that._ "I grew up on ships. The only time I was planet side was when my mother would take me with her on shore leave. My possessions encompassed what I could fit in my luggage, and I was never allowed a pet. Even after I entered the service, I never really had a place I could call my own. This," and she pulled a hand free to gesture to the cabin around them, "is the closest I've ever gotten to having somewhere I could consider my own."

"When this is over," and here Kaidan paused, taking a breath, "when this is over, we'll find a place and build a home – and a life – and a family. That's what I want," he added, firmly. "Our home, our life, our family. You and me, Shepard. Together."

_It's good for you to have something other than the next mission to consider – maybe now you'll be a little more careful, with someone to come home to._

_Thanks, Mom._ "Together," Shepard agreed, leaning forward as he did to seal the promise with a kiss. And when that kiss turned to more, she reveled in the stolen moment, let her mind go blank and simply _lived_. Simply _breathed_.


End file.
